


Hold Out Your Hand

by blueswan



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:24:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueswan/pseuds/blueswan
Summary: He thinks how long he and Brian have travelled together and how careful they are with each other these days. How many near arguments have been avoided by silence and pots of tea carefully served up on bad days. How Brian knows Roger is having a bad day before he has gotten close enough to say good morning, a simple look at his face suffices. How Roger recognises a bad Brian day by his posture, and by how even his hair slouches.





	Hold Out Your Hand

It had been a week or a month or a year. Long enough they thought. He knew the family were carefully noting each day, logging each missed phone call, sharing each instance of disinterest, and worrying. He tried to care, but rolling over back into sleep was simple. Soon would come the door knocks and the window taps. Like he needed that. He headed them off for a while with a call to Roger and a shower. He even put on a clean dressing gown and picked up the worst of the things he’d thrown, broken, and smashed . 

 

He heard a sound like someone at the door. He should get up, but they all had keys if they chose to use them. They would go away for a while, he counted on that. He slept on. 

When he woke pressed into the back of the settee there was someone spooned in his arms, his nose and mouth full of cigarette scented hair raggedly long. Cuddlesome arms and belly and full ass pressed against his skin. His traitorous dick fully aware of who it. 

“Rog, rog?” He pulled the half asleep man to his feet and escorted him to bed where they would both sleep more comfortably. Brian settled Roger in and moved to his side. By the time he had disrobed and settled in Roger was at his side pushing at him and mumbling. He hadn’t forgotten Roger’s sleeping habits, but he hadn’t thought about them either. Giving in he curled around Roger and wrapped his arm around him. He lay still hoping he would drift off. He slept again.

He woke and whisky soused, sleep creased Roger was in his arms. Rog had been up in the night and sussed out his good whisky. Brian was surprised he hadn’t woken to the movements and sounds in his house. But then he’d always felt secure in his sleep when Roger was there. It was just how it was, something he had never questioned. He felt good for a few seconds and then the gut-punch again, punishment for forgetting for a moment. But he did feel good, skin against his and a continual low rumble he barely registered initially, but concluded it must be Roger snoring. 

There was no reason to continue laying there and a rather urgent need to piss. When he returned to the bedroom Roger was leaning back against the headboard. The blankets turned down and a pillow in his lap. No words needed; they’d been telegraphing each other for decades. 

Brian crawled up and lay his head in Roger’s lap. He sighed and Rog twisted a length of curl in his fingers and took another up to do the same. He ran his fingers through the curls pausing to unpick tangles. He pushed his head against Roger’s fingers.

“Fuck me,” he asked. 

“Nope, not while you are in this state. You’ll get pissed later and take a swing at me for taking advantage. 

“I love you.”

“I know that. Did I win by default? Last man standing, so to speak?” There is a bitter note that runs through his words. 

“Roggie. Please.”

“Don’t call me that. “ It’s not his name to use. He doesn’t want to hear it from Brian.“Get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

 

Roger slips out from under Brian’s head, sets the pillow down on the bed, grabs a robe, and heads for the kettle. He stops and looks at the pictures on the walls. The special things and people in Brian’s life and centred in among each grouping is a different picture of Queen. His beautiful lady features prominently among the photographs, but then he realizes for each picture of an individual is one of himself. Thirty and more years of Roger Taylor adorn Brian’s walls. He laughs. It’s the reverse of his own walls. What a pair of arses. The laughter fades away and he brushes the wet from his face. 

He makes himself a tea and goes out to sit in the garden. The grass is wet on his feet and the morning air is cool, cutting through Roger’s robe and chilling his skin. He lets himself go and feels his face heating up, feeling his eyes and nose fill and chokes out a sob. He’s not sure who he is crying over, but then since Freddie he has assumed each tear is for him. But now he is wondering at the truth. He thinks maybe it is for the ones Freddie left behind. Maybe Bri has had the right of it all along, and the tears are for the broken, damaged and fragile ones who are still here. 

He thinks how long he and Brian have travelled together and how careful they are with each other these days. How many near arguments have been avoided by silence and pots of tea carefully served up on bad days. How Brian knows Roger is having a bad day before he has gotten close enough to say good morning, a simple look at his face suffices. How Roger recognises a bad Brian day by his posture, and by how even his hair slouches. He takes a moment to acknowledge how badly he misses John, who they watched slip away, even as they watched Freddie fade out. Grief he can’t share; John is still alive.

The tea has gone cold and he sips it anyway. He remembers the day Anita was waiting for test results and had sent Brian off to his planned conference. 

“I couldn’t stand to have him by me another minute. Do you know what it’s like to have someone brace themselves every few minutes and then try to boost your spirits?” 

“No.” Roger admits and folds his hand over hers. 

They sit quietly and finally Anita gets down to business. When she is finished, Roger has been bequeathed Brian. And now here he sits. Crying like a useless tit in Brian and Anita’s garden. 

Brian stands at the door looking out at the garden, There is Roger, grey head bent and hands covering his face. He’s seen that before. Emotions ride close behind Roger’s face, and once the frozen façade melts, they aren’t hidden for long. He opens the door, purposely clattering the tray he is carrying, giving Roger a little time to recover if he wants it.

By the time he reaches the table and sets the tea-tray down, Roger has pulled himself together. Too bad he can’t hide the reddened nose and eyes. 

“Okay?” Brian asks. 

Roger nods a quick nod and mumbles “Alright.“ 

Brian pours a fresh tea for each of them and pushes a plate of buttered scones over to Roger. 

“I was thinking -” Brian interrupts him with a hand in the air and a sound of protest. 

“No, no, hear me out. We’ve been so many places touring, but how many of them have we actually seen? I was thinking we could explore some of them, maybe take a couple of the boys with us if you want. I just. I’d like to spend time with you that’s not on stage, Bri. It’s been ages.”

Brian raises his eyebrows at Roger, and lifts a hand giving an inquiring swirl. He doesn’t really get what has prompted this idea. He doesn’t want to know, really. They are band-mates, friends who are more than acquaintances, but Roger is right. It has been years. He has side-stepped Roger’s past efforts. He can’t be anything more it would be unfair to treat Anita that way once again. He wont hurt her like that. Not ag-. Oh, oh, ofuck. 

Brian stands so quickly, his chair goes over. He spins and walks back to the house. Tears flood his face and he swears wiping them away. What an exhausting morning. 

Huh. A chair going over in the grass makes very little noise. And there goes Brian. Christ he hadn’t said anything to make him cry had he? Maybe it’s the house or something in the air or the water. Cause he hasn’t fucking cried this much and for no reason since. Well he’d had a reason then hadn’t he? And he’d had the decency to get out of sight until he had control over himself. That might have been what prompted the idea of the getaway he’d proposed. Might as well see if he can undo whatever shitstorm he’d raised in Brian.

The kitchen is a shambles. Drawers wrenched out of their tracks and the contents dumped, the bowls that contain odds and ends flung at walls leaving dents or even holes in the plaster. Brian might have been in the house 5 minutes maybe. Roger already knows what he is looking for and he is not happy that he guessed correctly when he abducted the vehicles and their keys. 

Brian glanced up as he pulled out and dumped another drawer, kicking through the detritus. His face was tight with anger. “Roger, perhaps, for some unknown reason, you might be able to explain why my garage is locked and the keys are missing as are the keys for the cars.”

Roger actually stepped back a few steps. Wow, okay so that was pissed, angry beyond all reckoning Brian. He only thought he’d seen this before. He felt very underdressed for the occasion.

“I could paraphrase your words or would you rather just listen to yourself talk about methods of committing suicide that wouldn’t leave a mess for your family to stumble into? Very inconsiderate of you to not also think of those who would have to deal with the mess you’d leave all over the side of a bridge. So your cars are in storage and the garage is locked to keep you from finding other fun ways to off yourself. Jerry is on call any time you need to go somewhere.” 

“Fuck you Taylor. What gives you the right?”

“Do you know why I’m here? Your boy got my number from mine and called me. He was just old enough the last time to catch bits and pieces, but he got enough to be afraid for you and he asked me to help if I could. I’ve known you longer than anyone else I know and Brian, I love you. But right now, I’m a little bit afraid of you and I’m worried about you.”

 

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous.” 

“Can’t help it, you know.” Roger stepped up to Brian and placed a hand on his arm. “Lets go finish our tea. I’ll get a lounger and if you like you can nap in the sunshine. It looks to be a beautiful day.” 

“Don’t manage me.” 

“Come on now. It’s late, time to talk.” Roger grinned and started walking backward. He walked right into the wall and bounced forward. Brian bit back a smile. Roger pointed a finger at him and frowned. Brian burst into laughter, and Roger followed him. Brian stepped closer to Roger and placed a hand on each shoulder. He guided him out the door and back to the table. The pot was cold and Roger laughed “The ants are trying to run off with our breakfast.” 

Brian picked up the plate that had a small colony of ants covering it. He gently brushed them into the grass and spilled the crumbs on the plate among them. He levered himself back to his full height bracing himself on the back of a chair. He gave Roger a rueful look, reloaded the tray he brought out earlier and started back into the house. Once inside he faced the mess he had created and calmly began to erase it. When it looked better he glanced out the window. Roger has both lounge chairs folded out in the sun and the robe he was wearing is cushioning his head. 

 

Roger’s arse was already beginning to pink up. Brian dropped a blanket over him before he sat on the end of Roger’s lounger.

“I’m not depressed. This isn’t that. I’d know. I’m sad Rog. I miss her so much. I ache when I call her name and get no answer. I miss her when I wake and she isn’t there. I miss her every minute and it’s worse when I forget for a moment…that she is gone. It hits me and I try to get off by myself and have a good cry. The kids get upset because I’m upsetting the children. So I’m avoiding my kids and grandkids. I just want time to settle in with her not being here. Knowing it’s coming and having the reality arrive doesn’t make it easier to - you know. They want me to medicate my grief away, like it’s wrong, something I shouldn’t feel.” His voice gets lower and stumbles into quiet. 

Roger rolls over and shifts to his knees, reaching for Brian. “God Bri, of course you are sad. I’m sure they just hate seeing you that way. They don’t want you to be in pain. Maybe they are wrong, but they mean well.” He pulls Brian down onto his shoulder and strokes his hair. “Have a good cry if you like, you wont even stain my shirt.” He settles back on his heels and yelps. Brian chuckles, the bastard. “Throw a bag together and come home with me, You could use a few days of good meals. If you cry I’ll bring you a box of tissues and” - grabs Brian’s hand in his and holds it - “hold your hand if you like. Stay for as long as you can stand us.”

Brian stood and tugged Roger to his feet. He wrapped him in the discarded blanket.

“Come on, I have to pack a bag, call Jimmy and get dressed. You’re sure your wife won’t mind?”

“You’re family Bri. You’re Queen. She understands what that means.”

Brian wrapped an arm around Roger and pressed a kiss into his cheek. He turned his hand and threaded their fingers together.

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally the fault of Bohemian Rhapsody. I hadn't deliberately listened to Queen for a very long time. Now I have all these ridiculous feelings about this Band. So many feelings. I listen to their music whenever I can. I watch the docs, interviews and even reaction vids. (Those are so adorable.)
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom and indeed I've been in a dry spell for five years fic-wise. I had a friend Brit-pick it for me, but any errors remain my own. I am fine with constructive criticism, try to be gentle please. Title lifted from the lyrics for "Friends Will Be Friends". 
> 
> This is a work of fiction. In short, I made it all up.


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